


He Was a Soldier

by orphan_account



Series: Healing Broken Souls [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: BAMF John, But still a shit-ton of fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Post-Reichenbach, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-08-20 02:47:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8233423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: John Hamish Watson was not the tallest. Nor was he the largest or the heaviest. But he should never, ever be taken lightly or over-looked. Sherlock wasn't quite sure why others kept doing so. They were quite the moronic lot, weren't they?Maybe it was the jumpers.





	

\-----

It was the jumpers. It  _had_ to be the jumpers.

 

But  _was_ it the jumpers?

 

Sherlock huffed. John, more than used to Sherlock's manic-depressive behavior whenever he became 'bored', merely flipped through that day's paper. Sherlock watched him intently, the silver-lit aquarium that was his eyes staring non-waveringly, trying to work his way through his current puzzle. John, who was still sipping his tea and contemplating the recent developments in London, didn't even look upwards.

 

"Problem?"

"Of sorts."

"Will it require experimentation?"

"To gather further data? Possibly."

"Will these 'experiments' involve hazardous materials and/or degrading body parts?"

"Very slim chance."

"Sherlock."

"Fifteen percent. Twenty at the maximum. With margin for error, of course."

 

John rolled his eyes, and rose to put his empty cup in the sink. Sherlock's eyes didn't waiver. 

\-----

Sherlock had moved so that his long body was stretched across the sofa. He couldn't let John in on the specific details of his current experiment. Since it was centered around John, (or more specifically, John's behaviors) it was crucial that John not alter his behaviors in any way, shape, or form. What was the topic of his experiment? It had been brewing for a long time. 

 

People severely underestimated John Hamish Watson.

 

He was aware that according to current standards (as asinine as they were), John wasn't the 'ideal' man. He was a few centimeters shorter than what was preferred, a little older than what was considered youthful, and more even-tempered than those 'hot-blooded stallions' that women seemed to clutch after. He couldn't hold back a sneer.

 

How animalistic.

 

As much as it almost physically pained him to do so, he needed to gather comparative data. Imagine the shock John Watson received when he returned from his shift at St. Bart's to see the adamantly-sociopathic (He didn't buy it. After all that Sherlock had done and gone through for others, how could he?) flatmate reading what looked to be a stack of 'literature' and articles geared towards adolescent females and elderly women. He snapped a few pictures (either Sherlock didn't notice or didn't care, he wasn't quite sure), and made his way over to the younger man.

 

"Interesting choice of reading material, there."

"It's for an experiment."

 

John raised an eyebrow.

 

"And this... _experiment..._ requires you to know the 'Five Things Every Woman Wants In a Man'?"

"...Yes."

"Huh. Well, 'What Your Prince Charming Should Do For You' looks promising."

"John."

"Ooh, and I'm sure 'He Better Get Better In Bed' is just an astounding, intellectually stimulating must-read."

 

John couldn't hold in his manic giggling as Sherlock huffed indignantly and threw a pillow at him. Sherlock couldn't keep a grin off his own face. He had missed that laughter. 

 

He filed it away into the brightest hall of his mind palace.

\-----

Sherlock scanned the crime scene once more. He had already uncovered and deciphered most of the clues regarding the case (it was barely a four, but he had been terribly bored over the last few days so it was  _something_ ), of course, but this was a prime opportunity to examine others' behavior towards the subject. John was standing off to his left, giving him enough room to move freely, but close enough to be of assistance if the need arose. It appeared to be a subconscious gesture, interestingly enough, because as he made his rounds, John's body shifted in position to remain in the ideal location.

 

But that wasn't what he was worried about. He let his eyes roam over the idiots that Lestrade let flounce around crime scenes. Some where watching him (with mixed reactions), some were chatting amongst themselves, and some where speaking with Lestrade himself. But none were watching John. All of their gazes ran right over him like water over stones, and he couldn't see how. Somehow, John had managed to camouflage himself in a  _dirty alleyway crime-scene._

 

_How?_

 

He was standing in the middle of a crime scene, and no one looked twice towards him. He would have pondered further had he not caught a suspicious figure out of the corner of his eye. Without a second thought, he was chasing down the criminal, John hot on his heels.

\-----

"How many times am I going to have to tell you. If you see a criminal, you point it out to an officer. You don't just take off after them without saying a thing!"

"John, I am aware that you are worried, and I will sit through your mother-hen lecture at a later date. Right now, you need to hold still and let the paramedics clean the wound you got from  _attacking an armed criminal."_

"He was about to throttle you-"

"I had the situation-"

"If you say  _'under control',_ you git, I swear I will punch you with my good hand."

 

Their gazes locked, and Sherlock scowled. The sloppy murderer had latched onto Sherlock's throat with the intent to strangle, and John had slammed into him, knocking him off. But it hadn't stopped there. A brief scuffle followed immediately afterwards; both parties wrestling for the upper hand. John was at a disadvantage when it came to height and weight, but had the _advantage_ when it came to speed and flexibility.

 

Sherlock could only watch, fighting to regulate his breathing, as the compact ball of wool and rage managed to land several punches to the other man's solar plexus, throat, and groin. He moved to intervene once the thug produced a wicked-looking steak knife, and managed a lucky slash. Before he could, however, John had adjusted his strategy to compensate for this new development. He was able to maneuver the knife away before man-handling him into tight choke-hold. It wasn't long before the man went red in the face and succumbed to unconsciousness. John released him and covered the cut on his thigh, which was bleeding steadily. 

 

That led them to their present location: the back of one of the ambulances Lestrade had called to accompany him at the crime scene. John had insisted that it wasn't bad enough to warrant a visit to the emergency room, but had agreed to at least have it cleaned and wrapped. Sherlock raised a judgmental eyebrow that managed to piss John right off.

 

"And you don't think you are behaving even the slightest bit hypocritically?"

"How so?"

"You are berating me for my hasty actions, when you yourself confronted him. Violently. In far closer range, I might add."

 

John flushed. Sherlock's eyes softened, and he offered a slight smile.

 

"Be that as it may...thank you for your assistance."

"You're welcome. Just...don't worry me like that. I've lost you once. I don't want it to be twice."

"I won't if you agree not to do it to me either."

 

John returned his smile, and Sherlock softened further. Lestrade looked on, and sighed. He wouldn't interrupt their moment. He'd just get their statements tomorrow morning. But he had to snort a little. People were looking over the scene, trying to put two and two together, but denying that the answer was four. He had come to terms with it long ago.

 

John Watson was tougher than he looked, and shouldn't be underestimated.

 

Sherlock was in good hands.

\-----

Sherlock laid in his usual 'prayer' pose, submerged deep within his own mind. To others, he would look completely still, but deep inside, he was full of movement. John had filled an entire hall of his mind palace, and he had been stalking up and down it, examining rooms and what they contained , for over three hours. Behaviors, preferences, habits, dislikes; it was all categorized here, and his reason was telling him that it was useless and taking up unnecessary space. If it had been any other thing he'd have had no problems throwing it out, but for some reason even the whole debacle with  _Mary_ had remained here. He didn't know why, but something kept him from cleaning this area out.

 

"I think you know what."

 

Palace John had appeared about thirty minutes in, and had been watching him root through this...this...wing made _entirely_ of sentiment since then. 

 

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yeah, you do. You and I both know you have far too good of control over this place to let anything you truly don't want stay."

"This is for important things-"

"Did you ever stop to think that this is important to you?"

 

Sherlock froze.

 

"I mean, the work is important to you. That's why these other things are here; to assist you. But you  _do_ gave feelings, Sherlock. And this relationship, it's important to you. That's why these rooms are here. And we both know you wander here when things get to be too much. Just let it all free, Sherlock. These chains are hurting us both. Just embrace it. You'll feel better, I promise..."

 

Sherlock's eyes snapped open, and met John's concerned ones. Cloudy skies crashed into sapphire waves, and Sherlock closed his again.

 

"Sherlock. I think we need to talk about this."

 

He only received a grunt in reply, but would not be deterred.

 

"Sherlock. You looked downright panicked for an instant. I'm not going to pretend that you're not having nightmares or whatever geniuses get. We need to talk about this."

"Why?"

"Because you're not the only one, you ninny."

 

Sherlock rolled over again.

 

"Wait. Does that mean-"

"I get nightmares of you jumping? And getting shot by Mary? Yes."

"But-"

"Just because I got engaged doesn't mean I completely forgot about you. Did you forget how I fought that criminal? I still had flashbacks of you being forced to jump. Of that day when I thought I watched my best friend die. And then my _wife shot you_ , and that panic and anger joined the mix."

"I'm sorry, John. Ugh, what's going on, I shouldn't be doing this!"

"It's called trauma, Sherlock. You've been through some serious shit, had to watch some serious shit, and had to do some serious shit. You're not a sociopath. You have emotions. You're a person who's been labelled and judged, and hasn't had a support system made of people you trust in a long time, if ever."

"I-I-I don't need to...I don't want to-"

 

John wrapped his hands around him in a tight hug, which Sherlock returned, a little awkwardly at first; melting into the comforting embrace.

 

"I'm here for you, Sherlock. And even if it takes you years to completely believe that, it won't change. You're important to me."

"...You're important to me too, John."

"I'm glad. And we're going to heal. Together."

 

And there they sat, for hours, just unspoken words of comfort flowing between them.

\-----


End file.
